


A Wind with A Wolf's Head

by Juliet_Capulet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Jon, F/M, Jon needs a hug too tbh, Sansa is tired and needs a nap, book canon, speculation for TWOW, we always need more book Jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26240149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliet_Capulet/pseuds/Juliet_Capulet
Summary: After escaping the Vale, Sansa journeys north to the only family left to her. What she doesn't know is that Jon Snow is changed.But Winterfell is still their home, and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 172





	1. Arrival

The cold numbed everything. From her nose, to her fingers, to the breath in her lungs, the cold froze and stiffened. Sansa shoved her cloak up around her face and tucked her free hand under her arm. The grey cloth billowed and faded into the darkening twilight as the wind tore at her.

Somewhere, a wolf howled, but Sansa was not sure if it was in her mind or not. _A ghost wolf_ , she told herself and pressed on.

The Wall rose up in front of her, cutting white across a grey sky.

She leaned down to the poor creature that had dutifully carried far longer than either of them had expected. She patted the old mare’s neck. “We’re almost there.”

If the horse collapsed now, Sansa was not sure she could make it by herself. She was so cold; she couldn’t even muster the energy to shiver. “Almost there,” she said again, the wind snatching her words away.

Then the horse stumbled again, and Sansa slid off into the snow. It was so soft, and she didn’t even feel cold anymore.

 _It’s alright. I’ll just close my eyes for a moment._ Her lids already slipped closed as she thought it, and she wondered if she would dream of Lady. _That would be a sweet dream._ Already she could feel Lady nosing at her, pressing a wet nose to her exposed cheek. Sansa reached up to bury her fingers in the direwolf’s fur but her arms were so tired. Instead, her eyes fluttered open to meet the soft gold of her gentle Lady’s gaze but it was red that met her stare instead. A white direwolf stood over her, looking almost mournful.

“Ghost?” It had been so long since she had seen any of her sibling’s direwolves and Jon’s had grown so large she scarcely recognized him. But who else could this be, but the small silent pup with baleful red eyes?

He gave her a lick on the nose, and Sansa giggled, the sound almost unrecognizable to her. She could still feel the snow calling to her, for her to lay down and sleep, but Ghost was so warm and he smelled like home and the wolfswood and Lady. She wrapped her arms around the wolf and let out a sigh she’d been holding for so long she couldn’t even remember what it was for.

She stood up, leaning on Ghost for support as her legs sunk into the snow. He pressed against her as she struggles towards the old horse. It looked as tired as she felt, so Sansa stroked the poor thing and told her that there would soon be plenty of oats and warm place to rest. She smiled at Ghost. “We even have a guide now.”

The horse shied away from the massive beast, but like Sansa, was too tired to be much afraid of anything. Once Sansa managed to scramble on, the mare started its slow plod again, Ghost padding silently beside them. The trees here were old and dark, but she could see Castle Black, a silhouette against the Wall, and somewhere closer, small warm lights.

Ghost sprinted ahead to a break in the trees and waited patiently for Sansa and the horse. He had led them into a small village surrounded by a rough wooden palisade. Although no one was outside, she could hear some quiet bustle from the insides. There was a small stable outside the walls, and she gratefully led her faithful mount in. The old mare had been her only companion for much of the journey in the North. She had lost Mya Stone after they were wrecked somewhere beyond the Sisters, and had dressed as a Silent Sister to continue by herself. Most people left the handmaidens of the strangers to their own devices.

There were other horses there, and after watering her own mare, Sansa sunk gratefully into the bales stacked against one side. It smelled of horse and sweat and hat but it was warm, and grander than any bed in the Red Keep. Ghost nuzzled her hand, and she turned to face him. “Let’s just rest here for a moment. It’s been an exhausting journey.” She yawned. “I won’t be long, just closing my eyes.”

Sansa dreamed of her own bed in Winterfell, Lady cuddled against her.

When she woke, it was to a large crash. A sinewy old woman wearing tattered old furs was standing in the corner, backing away from a snarling Ghost. Sansa rose to her feet, ignoring her protesting body.

“Ghost! Come here!” The direwolf glanced back at her but did not move. The elderly woman flicked her eyes to Sansa and started to back away. Ghost let her inch her way towards the door as Sansa called to him again. With a dismissive shake of his head, he came to stand by Sansa’s side.

Licking her cracked lips, Sansa considered what to say. “I’m sorry to have startled you. I only meant to sit down but I must have fallen asleep.”

The old woman looked even more wary. “Wasn’t you that gave me a fright but that wolf, girlie. Dangerous beasts, wolves, and that one more than most.”

Sansa buried her hand in Ghost’s ruff. “I- I do not think he meant to hurt you.” But she was not too sure herself.

“Mayhaps, but that’s Lord Crow’s own wolf and no man knows what goes on in that head.” The woman began to shuffle back once again. “But I’m not one to turn away anyone in this cold. Never know when you need someone to do the same for you. There’s some soup and likely something warm to drink.”

Sansa felt nothing but relief at the prospect of something warm to fill her belly. But she hesitated. “My horse, I put her in the free stall. Could she be fed something?”

The woman grunted. “Was about to get to that before the wolf said otherwise. The mash will be cold now but see if you can convince him to let me in here.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you. And sorry again.” She gathered her grey cloak around her, and coaxed Ghost out of the stable. She did her best to comb his fur with her fingers while the woman fed the horses. He lolled his tongue out as she did so. “Do you remember Lady, Ghost? I would brush out her fur like this. Sometimes I would do the same with Bran’s and Greywind. Shaggydog was always too wild to sit still for me and Nymeria was always off with Arya but I did wash her once.” Sansa bent down to look into Ghost’s face. “Do you remember your littermates? Your brothers and sisters? You must, for you recognized me.” He nuzzled into her hands as she scratched under his chin.

Sansa turned when she felt a gaze upon her. The woman crossed her arms with an odd expression on her face. Ghost pressed himself in front of Sansa and eyed the woman warily. The elder only shook her head. “This is a strange thing and I’ve never had a head for strange things. I’m far too hungry and cold for this. C’mon, girlie. Let’s find you something to eat.”

Sansa followed with Ghost still by her side. At small wooden door in the side of the palisade, her host paused.

“The name’s Wenya. I don’t suppose you have one too, wolf girl?”

There was a long pause before Sansa answered. “My parents named me Sansa.”

A grunt. “I’ve heard worse.” Wenya eyed Ghost with the same weariness that he had looked at her. “I’m not sure what that beast is up to but I’m not going to tell Lord Crow’s own where it can or can’t go. But I’d think most folk preferred if it didn’t come down for soup.”

“Lord Crow?”

“The lord of the night’s watch, girlie. That’s Jon Snow’s wolf, and there’s many a person who’s afeared of Lord Snow around here, for good reason.”

Sansa looked back Ghost. Her brother Jon had always been a serious person, true, but she couldn’t imagine him as someone to be feared. Wenya must have read the uncertainty on Sansa’s face. “But I’m too old to afraid of crows, even lordly ones with direwolves. Even of that one.” Wenya muttered that last bit, but Sansa heard it and she felt tension rise up in her again. She had nowhere else to go. Jon was all that was left to her. _What if he would not help her?_ Sansa had to shake that thought off. Jon Snow was her brother and he would help her. Hands clenched, she followed Wenya into one of the huts, as a few sentries on the palisade looked them over. To Sansa’s surprise, a ladder led deep into the earth, and braced herself to follow Wenya as the wiry old woman scurried her way down. The tunnel was cozy, and filled with people, more women and children. The din was comforting after so long alone in the wilderness.

Wenya shoved a bowl into Sansa’s hand’s, full of broth and turnips. Sansa was so hungry; she didn’t even wait for a spoon to start eating. Crammed between Wenya and a stranger, she gulped down the soup, picking out the larger pieces with her dirty fingers to put into her mouth. Somehow, Wenya ate even faster, and was licking off her own fingers before Sansa was done. The woman on the other side of Wenya was bouncing a toddler on her legs to the child’s burbling delight. “Who’s this, Wenya? She doesn’t look like one of our girls.”

“Found her out sleeping with the horses. Says her name is Sansa. Figured I’d feed her first before asking to many questions.”

Another child tugged at Sansa’s skirts, expectantly. “Oh, hello.” Wenya only raised an eyebrow as the child stretched out her arms to be held. Sansa picked her up and the little girl settled into her lap. Wenya’s neighbor laughed. “Oh, don’t be afraid, Jen’s always looking for someone’s attention.”

“I don’t mind,” Sansa said quickly. She offered Jen the last bit of turnip, and the girl accepted it happily.

“So, Sansa is it? I’m Elly and you’ve met Wenya already. What brings you up all the way to the Wall? Most people are trying to get further south, not north.” She laughed brightly, all her teeth showing in a crooked but friendly smile. Sansa smiled back as Jen pulled out a red strand from her braid. The brown dye had mostly faded and her hair was almost back to Sansa’s original auburn.

“I’m here to see Jon Snow. He’s the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, is he not?” That stripped the smile off Elly’s face and the entire table fell into a hush.

Elly spoke first. “I’m not sure that’s too smart, child. Lord Crow’s not a very hospitable fellow. Not anymore at least. If it’s a warm bed you’d be wanting, I’ve had space since my Don went off with the crows.”

Sansa kept her expression neutral as she thought about how much to reveal to them. These women were rough but kind, but she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust them. The Wenya spoke up, her fingers rattling against the table. “Snow wouldn’t hurt a girlie, I don’t think. Didn’t he help that one southern lady who came riding up here alone?”

Elly shifted uncomfortably. “Aye, but that was before, you know.” She turned back to face Sansa. “You seem like a sweet enough girl and you were able to get yourself up here. Don’t be risking all that to go bother Jon Snow.”

Wenya was silent. Sansa noticed that the old woman hadn’t mentioned Ghost at all. She seemed to be leaving it up to Sansa how much to reveal.

Sansa steeled herself. “I need to see Jon Snow. You see, he’s my brother and the only family I have left.”

Elly struggled to reply but Wenya chuckled. “I reckon that would make you a Stark, wouldn’t it? Everyone knows that Lord Crow was the bastard of Winterfell. Imagine us free folk south of the wall and breaking bread with a Stark!”

Wenya clearly found this amusing but Sansa was determined to get to Castle Black. “Yes. I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I need to get to Castle Black.” She spoke quietly but her voice did not waver.

“The girlie is determined enough, Elly. I’ll saddle up her nag and take her to the gates myself.” Wenya lifted Jen off of Sansa’s lap. “Down you go, girlie. Go bother someone else.” She turned back to her friend. “Besides, Elly, we wouldn’t be here all warm in this mole hole without Snow. He’s done some good for us.”

Sansa stood with Wenya. “Thank you for your hospitality, Elly. This was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

That soften Elly’s expression. “Hunger does make the best seasoning, child. Just be careful up there, Sansa Stark. I don’t think that Lord Crow is the brother you came looking for.”


	2. Chapter 2

The cold did not worry Sansa anymore. At least not on this short trek, bolstered by food and company. No, it was Lord Crow that worried her. In truth, she had never been close to Jon. He was older, a boy, and bastard besides. Arya had always dragged him into her mischief, and Jon and Robb were far too close for her lady mother’s taste.

Bran had always been Sansa’s favorite if she was honest. He loved the songs as much as she did, and told her before she went south that he meant to join the kingsguard like Dragonknight or the Sword of the Morning. That was before he fell. Before everything came apart.

Sansa tipped her face up to watch the grey clouds pass through the winter sky. It was that bright, almost unnatural blue that came on clear and cold days. Wenya had been silent besides directing her to saddle the horses. The mare that Sansa had ridden on seemed content in her own warm stall, and the girl had given her a pat to say goodbye. The old woman, one of the free folk, she’d said, had been curt with Sansa but rubbed down the horses with a rough tenderness. Sansa watched her companion out of the corner of her eye, and worried her lip while she thought for brief moment.

Wenya was a blunt woman, and would likely appreciate that same honesty in turn. _Perhaps it would be best if I just came out and asked directly._

“Wenya, may I ask what you meant about the free folk and my brother being responsible for you being here?”

The elder scrunched up her face as she squinted down the path. “You southerners call us wildlings but we call ourselves the free folk, as we don’t kneel as you do. We are free to live as we please and die the same.”

Sansa was not too surprised. Although she had not known what the free folk called themselves, the women in Moletown had been stranger to her than many of the smallfolk she’d met along her way. But why had Jon let them south of the Wall? All children of the North had heard the stories of wildling raids. _Old Nan had said they drink blood and consort with ghouls._ The only thing Sansa had seen drunk was ale, and turnips, rather human flesh, made up the base of the soup. Still, wildlings were dangerous, and she knew enough about the havoc they could wreck after the mountain clans fell upon the Tourney of the Winged Knights.

“You said something about Jon being responsible for letting you past the Wall.”

Wenya turned her sharp gaze back on Sansa, the wind whipping her iron-grey hair into her face. “Aye, I did. Jon Snow let us past because there are far more dangerous things than the free folk up that way. The Wall wasn’t built to keep us out, girlie, and Lord Crow learned that lesson well.”

The Wall itself glistened so brightly in the winter sunlight it hurt for Sansa to look at it. “Brandon the Builder raised the Wall with magic thousands of years ago. To keep guard against the things that lurked behind it, grumpkins and snarks and the Others. But it’s just a story, isn’t it?”

“All stories start from somewhere, but I think you’d best ask Jon Snow about that. I’m just an old woman who wants a fire to warm my bones. I’ll be under the ground soon enough, and I won’t care much which side of the Wall I’m on then.”

And Sansa could feel the chill creeping up her once again. It would numb her fingers and slow her breath, and she wouldn’t feel anything anymore. Nothing but cold and snow. There was something terrifying about the thought of an eternal winter, with or without monsters lurking in it. But she still had another question.

“Jon does not seem well liked, despite that.”

“There’ve been going-ons Castle Black since I passed through, girl. Dark things, and to be sure Jon Snow played a part in them, along with that red woman. All I know is that were an awful lot of dead crows and kneelers at the end of it, and it was done by Lord Crow himself.”

As Sansa did her best to pick apart that statement, fear gnawed at the back of her mind. She had not doubted that her half-brother would help her before now. She couldn’t have, not without the risk of finally giving in and giving up. Now, she felt unsure. Sansa had been gone from the North and her family for a long time now, and Jon had sworn vows to not take part in the affairs of the realm. And this Lord Crow did not sound like the brother she remember.

Maybe all of Jon’s feelings had been frozen out of him, and he’d forgotten the warmth of Winterfell entirely. Maybe he’d seen such terrible things out there in the Lands of Always Winter, that he’d become numb to the wrongdoings of men.

Trust was a dangerous game, and Sansa Stark had learned that painfully and often.

Could she trust Jon Snow?

Ghost interrupted her thoughts as he snuffled against her leg, causing her horse to shy off to the side. Sansa frowned at him. “I think you know very well not to do that.” The wolf ignored her half-hearted scold as they approached Castle Black. She was surprised to see it lacked proper walls, as she and Wenya rode in. _It makes sense_ , she supposed. _The Wall is protection against the night’s watch’s enemies._

Ghost trailed silence in his wake as he raced ahead of Sansa to an open courtyard. Sansa herself felt the gazes on her all too sharply. She had not expected much of a welcome from Castle Black, but she had not foreseen the aura of fear here.

The temptation to wheel her horse around and run almost overwhelmed her. Sansa had nowhere to go, and she knew the impulse was a silly, childish one, but sometimes she wished she could just ride home again, to her childhood, before all the terrible things that happened.

If she rode back to Winterfell, what would she find?

Not her lady mother and lord father. Not Robb, or Arya, or Bran, or Rickon. Only strangers and enemies. No, she could not turn back now.

Her only family was here.

Sansa had come so far. She could go just a little further.

Sliding from her horse, she looked out at the quiet gathering of strangers. She licked at her chapped lips while she found the courage to speak.

“I am Sansa Stark, and I am here for my brother, Jon Snow.” She felt a spark of pride at the strength in her voice.

The silence was overwhelming, and Sansa had to breathe deeply to keep her nerve. “I need to see Jon Snow.”

The shift was palpable as Ghost loped his way through the men.

A dark haired soldier came through the path Ghost had left.

Tears pricked in her eyes as Sansa looked at her father’s face again. Jon was taller, older, but unmistakably Stark. There was something searching in his grey eyes as he stared back, and she felt so unsure of everything, of herself, looking at this face so familiar and yet so distant.

He stepped forward, eyes never leaving her face. Sansa couldn’t force her legs to move. Uncertainty was written all over her expression.

“Jon, it’s me. It’s Sansa.” Her voice sounded so afraid, even to her own ears.

His hands came up to grasp her elbows. “Sansa.” The way he said her name brought memories rushing back to her, with his deep northern brogue. His eyes, so Stark, pierced into her own.

“I remember. I remember you.” Jon seemed to say this more to himself than to her.

This time, it was Sansa who moved forward, but she stumbled over herself. Jon was the only thing keeping her upright just then, and she curled her own hands around his arms.

“I remember you.”

Sansa couldn’t bear to look at his face just then, with his voice so terribly neutral. She leaned her forehead against his chest, tired to the bone. He drew his arms around her then, despite the lack of feeling in his voice. That brought the tears tumbling down.

She hated her weakness, but Jon held her despite it. He was warm and smelled like smoke and snow. The smell of Winterfell.

His nose brushed against the top of her head and Jon shifted her. “You’re cold.” She could hear the frown in his voice.

Keeping one hand on her, Jon started to guide Sansa inside, but she looked back for her guide. Wenya had disappeared, no doubt wanting to avoid the spectacle Sansa was now conscious she was making. She flitted her gaze across the small gathering of strangers. _Jon’s brothers,_ Sansa thought. She curled her hand into her skirts and looked back at Jon Snow while they walked.

Stoic. Unreadable. Devoid of any clues she could use to suss out his reaction to her.

At the very least, he had not turned her directly away. At the very least, he was bringing her inside. At the very least, he recognized her.

The doubt that had laid constantly in her throat since she left the Vale settled ever so slightly. Sansa would have to take this one step at a time.

Breathing deeply, Sansa walked with the man with her father’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to spend a lot of time on this part, as conveying the right emotions for Jon and Sansa's reunion was very difficult. They've both changed massively, and Sansa is still very unsure of herself, and Jon has undergone his own trauma. I really want to explore the implications of Jon's resurrection which includes potential memory loss and over all feralness. Neither of them are really in a place to fully embrace another person without hesitation or fear of rejection, but there's still potential for trust there.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon Snow leaned on the door to the Lord Commander’s chamber. With the solid wood to his back, he absentmindedly flexed his burnt hand.

His sister slept in there now. _Sansa._ The sweet girl-child who had trailed after the Lady Catelyn like a shadow. He remembered that much. That, and her wolf had been taken and killed far in the south. He felt the missing members of his pack keenly, her and his brother.

She would never run through the dark woods with him, or taste the fleeting life of a fresh kill. She was stuck in her woman-skin now.

Just as Jon had been forced back into his.

 _Her_ hair had been red. Not Sansa, but the priestess. A terrible dark red, closer akin to heartsblood than flames she worshipped.

Sansa’s hair was a gentler colour, in the shades of a forest giving way from summer to winter, leaves carried off by the wind.

He remembered that as well. Being young beneath the heart tree in Winterfell, with its red leaves swirling in the breeze.

But it was also close to her Lady mother’s. Lady Catelyn with her Tully hair and icy anger.

Sansa had not been angry. Only afraid. He could feel her tremble, see it writ large across her face. She had been so cold as well, barely any heat coming off her head as he brushed against it. A snow maiden with a pale, wan countenance.

Jon leaned his head back on the wooden door thinking about it. He knew those feelings all too well, remembered the sharpness of them both (though the fire that burned within him now prevented the worst of the chill).

Sansa had been cold and afraid, so he took her inside to warm her. He took his hand off her once they reached the fire, stepped back from her. She was older now, a lady even in distress. He saw it in her recovered poise, the grace of her step, her trembling hands tucked into her clothes. Untouchable and remote.

When she held her fingers out to the warmth of the flames, they were thin and pale. Her hands would disappear into his grasp if he tried to warm them with his own. He did not.

Leaning one arm above the hearth, Jon chose to gaze into the fire rather than at her, idly searching for something there. All he saw was the cracks in the wood glowing.

When she spoke, it was halting. Fragments of the tragedy that had befallen them disjointed as she pieced together her story.

The Lannisters in Kingslanding. Being swept away by the mysterious Lord Baelish. Her escape down through the Vale. The holes of what she left out were so wide that even he, with his trickle of information, could see right through them.

That was fine. For now. He had no desire to tell her the entirety of what had befallen Jon Snow, and no doubt she felt the same. He would not press her.

But she was here now, and she had come here alone with her allies flung to the wind and enemies on the hunt. That was the most important point. When Sansa fell into silence, he shifted his gaze back to her.

“What now, Sansa?”

Even in the glow of the fire, she had the look of the dead, all colour and health leeched out of her face and dark hollows beneath her eyes. It made the red in hair burn even brighter.

Would it burn him, then, if he touched it?

“What do you want from me?” His voice was low and more than a little harsh.

Sansa did not answer him as she stood. To Jon’s surprise, she came to his side. Her eyes reflected the pools in the godswood, warm blue beckoning him in. Her hand came up as if to touch his cheek and hovered there.

“You look like Father.”

Jon did not know what to say to that.

“It’s like looking at ghost.” Her hand was warm as it came to gently rest on his face.

He reached up and caught her hand, neither moving it away or pushing it closer. Just holding it there.

“Jon, what I want is to go home.”

“Home.” Winterfell. The place not even death could carve out of his heart. He recognized the longing that came up on her face. It had echoed in his own chest for so long he that barely noticed the steady, never ending ache. “Winterfell has been burned. The Boltons hold it now. There’s nothing there for you.”

Uncertainty flashed across her face before Sansa smoothed out her expression. “It’s still home,” she lowered her eyes, “or, at least I think so.”

The bitterness leaked into Jon’s voice. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” He pulled her hand down and started to turn away. “You are the last Stark. Do what you want.” Jon was a Snow, not a Stark. He had lost that chance.

Sansa’s hand came down on his arm. “I came here for a reason, Jon. You are the only family I have left.” She took a deep breath. “Winterfell is as much your home as mine. I know you’ve taken your vows, and I do not ask you to break them. Just give me shelter. That’s all I will ask from you.” Her face was full of fierce determination, the strongest emotion he had seen her show freely.

“I was never going to turn you away, Sansa” He had been cruel just then, and he felt guilt for it. Sansa had not deserved his ire; she had nothing to do with the disasters that had crumbled down on him. His trueborn half-sister had been guarded but conciliatory.

And he had chosen a sister over his vows before. _Not that those vows mattered anymore._

 _That was the core of it_ , Jon realized sourly. He did want to help Sansa. He did want to take Winterfell back. Even now, he stood outside her door, not trusting the men he had called brothers to leave a lone maiden be.

Jon had escorted Sansa, accompanied by Ghost who had barely left Sansa’s side since she’d arrived, to his own chambers which were warm enough. His own silence was clearly discomfiting her, so she turned to Ghost instead. The wolf seemed content to revel in her attentions, pressing against her legs and waist as Sansa rubbed him down. Ghost suffered no compunctions about Sansa, as he settled in front of the fire while Jon built it up with more wood.

“You can sleep here. Ghost will look after you.” His tone was stern but Sansa didn’t seem to take much notice of it as she busied herself with blankets.

Jon turned to leave but Sansa’s voice echoed behind him.

“Thank you, Jon.”

He nodded before leaving and closing the door. He settled on the other side, remembering the steam coming off the pools in Winterfell.

…

It did not escape Sansa that Jon had was standing guard outside her door. She had pressed her ear against it, waiting for his footsteps to fade away after he had brought her a hot bowl of something. They had not.

Sansa worried her lip now, taught with nerves and unable to sleep. Jon had taken her in but his distance made her worried. Could she trust him? Sansa thought so, at least not to turn her out. Her pacing summoned a whine out of Ghost, who felt the tension in her.

She had no plan, nowhere else to run. Jon was right when he told her there was nothing at Winterfell for her. But it was where she belonged, and it was where Jon belonged too. Even with all his gruffness, he had placed her in his own room and stood guard over her. _He was still her father’s son._

She looked towards the bed, roughly made up and clearly unslept in. When had he’d last slept? Clearly not for a long time, at least in this room. Where did Jon sleep, if not here?

There was something off with Jon Snow, even if she was not exactly afraid of him.

Sansa opened the door slowly, peering out. Jon stood to one side; his posture relaxed, but that didn’t fool Sansa. His grey eyes were as sharp and as alert as ever. He acknowledged her presence with the slightest tilt of his head.

“It’s warmer in here.” She spoke softly, as if not to startle a wild animal. Opening the door wider in clear invitation, Sansa waited for Jon to move. He didn’t.

“When did you last rest?”

“I don’t have much need for it. Not anymore.”

The cryptic nature of some of his replies frustrated Sansa, but she did not want confrontation.

“It’s a cold night, Jon, and I don’t feel right taking your bed while you stand put here. Please, come in.”

That made him move, but when he came inside, Jon stood in the middle with the same awkwardness she remembered him having when they were a younger; a far cry from the stoicism he had grown into. That made her smile just a little as she closed the door.

“Sometimes, I used to sneak into Robb’s room when I had nightmares. Bran did too.” Sansa sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her. That Jon felt the same uncertainty towards her as she did towards him went no small distance in comforting her. “I’ve thought a lot about back then. About the games we played and the silly stories we made up.” When Jon did not sit down next her, Sansa continued blithely. “Of course, you and Robb always played your own games, with Theon too, but I remember watching. Arya would bully her way in even though she was a girl, and sometimes Bran joined in. More often than not though, he was off climbing somewhere and getting into trouble.” As she talked, a real smile sprung to Sansa’s face. Perhaps she remembered things too rosily because it had been such a long and terrible time since she’d left Winterfell, but the memories of her siblings getting into mischief warmed her.

Jon finally spoke. “Robb and I used to play at being heroes. Picking the bravest from the songs and acting out the stories. I don’t remember you there, though.”

That made Sansa purse her lips slightly. “I wasn’t much for rough housing, but I loved the songs too.”

“I remember that,” He murmured. “You wept when that wandering singer left.”

“I did.”

Jon had his back to her again. “I have trouble remembering all of it. Or in ways that make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sansa, I am no longer a brother of the Night’s Watch. My oath has been fulfilled.”

She hesitated as she took apart the meaning of his words. Speaking carefully, she responded slowly. “The oath is for life, though. Until your death.”

“Exactly.”

His tone brooked no opposition and that made a shiver go down Sansa’s spine. _Lord Crow and dark things at Castle Black._

There was anger in his eyes when Jon turned back again. “I died, Sansa. My own brothers stuck their knives in me, in my heart. Then the red priestess that came with Stannis brought me back.”

She struggled to hide her concern and disbelief. “I- I didn’t know such a thing was even possible. Jon, what you’re saying, it sounds like something out of a story.”

“The stories are true, Sansa, at least some of them. The Wall wasn’t built to keep out other men.”

Overwhelmed, the girl stood up with shaking hands. “The Long Night. That’s true, too? Snarks, and grumpkins, and all that?”

“I’ve seen the dead walk, Sansa. I’ve seen giants, and mammoths and corpses rise again. There’s an enemy coming for the kingdoms of the living.”

“And you died? And came back? Jon, I’m sorry, but this all sounds completely mad.” Had her brother lost his mind? Had the women at Moletown been right about Lord Crow?

“It’s all true. I wish it wasn’t. I wish I was mad.”

Taking in a deep breath, Sansa moved to stand in front of Jon. “I believe that you were attacked, Jon. I believe you’ve seen strange things beyond the Wall. But perhaps, your mind was addled afterwards if you really were stabbed, the milk of the poppy can do that to you.”

His glare genuinely frightened Sansa just then, so full of burning rage and something else- Betrayal? Despair? She couldn’t tell.

He unbuttoned his jerkin and then shrugged it off. Sansa was frozen in shock as he pulled off his tunic. Across his chest were terrible, half healed wounds. At least three were directly above his heart and others clearly marked where knives had slid between his ribs.

Even she knew that no one could survive such a thing.

“What happened to you?” Voice full of horror, her hands ghosted over the wounds littering his torso. He spoke the truth. Jon must have died. But he still breathed and spoke and walked.

“I told you. The red woman, the priestess resurrected me with her magic. She thought I had a part to play in defeating the Others.”

“It’s all true, then? That the dead can rise, that the Wall was built to keep them out?”

“Yes. And no one in the Seven Kingdoms is ready for it.”

Clasping her arms around herself. “The North is the first kingdom beyond the Wall. If the Night’s Watch fails-“

“Not if, when.”

Jon’s words chilled her as much as any northern wind.

“This is madness. The Boltons have the North, the Lannisters rule in Kingslanding, and there’s an army of the dead coming for all of us.”

Sansa was the one who turned away this time, so she could let the chaos of her emotions run freely across her face. “By the old gods and the new, we have to do something.”

“What should we do then, Sansa? The Nights Watch betrayed and murdered their Lord Commander, and Stannis, the only king who even cared, has been defeated by the Roose Bolton’s bastard.”

She whirled around. “We have to take back Winterfell. It must have been what it was built for. To defend the North. That’s the duty of the Starks.” Sansa placed her hands on Jon’s bare shoulders. “I said I wouldn’t ask for it, but I can’t take back Winterfell alone. This about more than us.”

Anger finally gave way to exhaustion in Jon’s face. “Winter is coming. That’s the Stark words.”

“Jon, we have to go home. We need to prepare the North.”

His voice was wary. “It’s your duty as a Stark.”

That made Sansa want to shake him. “Don’t you want to go home? Don’t you want to go back to Winterfell? It’s as much yours as mine. You grew up there the same as me.” He had to care about Winterfell as much as her.

He grasped one of her hands that clutched his shoulder. “I care about Winterfell. I care about the North. I’ve done terrible things for both of them. Of course, I want to go back”

Sansa tightened her own hand around his. “Then we will. We’ll go back to Winterfell and we’ll rebuild it. It’s ours, it belongs to us, we have to go back.”

She could see the muscle in his jaws tighten before he gave her a tight nod. “We will go back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes. Sansa's had all of the Wall plot line dropped on her and she's just going to roll with it. This chapter was very hard to write, as I was attempting to write from Jon's pov, which I haven't done a ton of (so apologies for any of him being ooc) and ofc trying to sort out all the magic that Jon's been dealing with since AGOT. He didn't even go into how he warged into Ghost bc that's just too much.  
> What was supposed to be a slightly more romantic bedsharing chapter warped into Sansa trying to get a hold on everything going on. More time for that later, I suppose.


End file.
